


The Puppeteer's Demise

by almostannette



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Blood Pact, Character Study, Final Battle, Horcruxes, Imprisonment, Lost Love, M/M, Pining, Regret, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 00:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18021335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostannette/pseuds/almostannette
Summary: Love was not rational, love was not kind – no, love was like that muggle disease, cancer. It spread in you, festering, infecting your insides until it had corrupted every good thing inside of you. What else could explain the way Albus still hungered for Gellert Grindelwald’s touch, for his hands on his skin and his mouth covering his own, after all that had happened between them?





	The Puppeteer's Demise

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :) So, after a long hiatus, I've decided to try my hand at writing again, and this fic is the result. I've always wanted to tackle the final battle between Dumbledore and Grindelwald - I find their relationship fascinating, and this is my take, not only on the final battle, but also the build-up towards it. In addition to that, I'm also interested in Grindelwald's opinion on Voldemort, and whether Grindelwald continued to have visions during his imprisonment at Nurmengard, as well as what he thought of the state of the wizarding world after his fall from power.

**1927**

Albus turned the pendant over in his hand – he hadn’t seen it in over twenty-five years, he had to relearn the shape of the blood pact, trace every single curve and edge, and commit the symbol of his union with Gellert to memory.

He knew he shouldn't think about the blood pact that way. It was not a symbol of their love, but rather a testament to Albus’ own weakness and lack of foresight. He should consider it his utmost duty to destroy it, and yet… and yet, Albus couldn’t bring himself to even think about ways the blood pact could possibly be destroyed.

If Gellert had kept it all those years, after everything that happened between the two of them, and apparently still carried the pendant on his body, like a cherished possession, destroying it would be the ultimate act of betrayal from Albus’ side.

No, Albus Dumbledore decided, he wouldn’t seek to destroy it just yet, he would simply keep it safe.

But where?

Hogwarts was one of the safest places in Britain, certainly.

Gringotts? The goblins would keep the blood pact safe in his vault, no questions asked, no bad blood between them, either, since the blood pact was made entirely of magic, and not made by goblins, like the pureblood elite’s favorite pieces of jewelry. Still, to think of the pendant lying in a Gringotts vault, perhaps for years or even decades on end… 

Albus couldn’t bear it. Gellert had kept the blood pact close to his person so Albus would do the same. The blood pact rested against his heart, at all times a few degrees warmer than Albus’ body temperature.

*** *** ***

**1898**

Even among witches and wizards, Gellert Grindelwald was extraordinary. He could have easily been top of his class at Durmstrang, if he had any interest in excelling academically. As it was, he spent his time in class creating new spells and in his leisure time, he preferred not to complete boring homework assignments and instead taught himself skills he considered truly useful.

Legilimency and Occlumency, for example – such essential skills, but why did no wizarding school he knew include them in their curriculum? Surely not because it was too difficult, Gellert thought. With a little practice and talent, anyone could learn how to read other’s minds.

During his fifth year at Durmstrang, he came across a book on Dark Magic while doing research on a topic his Dark Arts professor had not wanted to answer in class and even threatened him with detention for simply mentioning it. It was ‘illegal’, that’s what his professor had said. Laws – or, as Gellert liked to call them, constraints – had never interested him much beyond learning how to circumvent them without getting caught.

The book which contained what Gellert was looking for was called ‘Gar boese Zauberey’. Judging from the yellowy, much-thumbed pages and the handwritten script, it had been compiled at least two centuries ago.

It was written in German, which was a pleasant surprise for Gellert – most original books about magic from this time period were either written in Latin or Ancient Greek, both languages which were indispensable to understanding magical theory, but weren’t part of the curriculum in any wizarding school known to Gellert. Naturally, he’d mastered them, since they were the logical foundation of nearly every spell known to wizardkind. How was he ever going to create new incantations if he didn’t know the most basic building blocks?

This, though… this was something that went far beyond teaching himself a language or learning the ins and outs of the more obscure branches of magic like Legilimency. The contents of the seventh chapter in ‘Gar boese Zauberey’ were challenging his understanding of life and death, going against everything he’d been told was the truth – that even as advanced and superior as their knowledge of magic was these days even the mightiest wizard or the most powerful witch would not be able to escape death forever.

Mastering death was difficult, of course. Difficult, dangerous and there was the very high possibility of it going horribly wrong. The process described was messy and complicated, about as complex and challenging as it was to become an Animagus, Gellert thought, albeit much quicker. Still, it was quite more illegal than anything other he’d ever attempted…

Gellert Grindelwald kept the knowledge he learned from reading the seventh chapter of “Gar boese Zauberey” to himself. He considered it a fascinating thought experiment, yet ultimately too vile to go through with. There had to be other ways…

A few months later, his aunt Bathilda sent him an annotated edition of “The Tales of Beedle the Bard”, and Gellert found the solution to his problem. Three magical objects, which, once combined, would make the person who possessed them Master of Death.

The Hallows became an obsession for him, along with the fiercely intelligent redhead, who he met in Britain after being expelled from school. Between Albus and the Hallows, Gellert Grindelwald forgot that he ever looked up instructions for creating Horcruxes in the Restricted Section of the Durmstrang library.

*** *** ***

**1927**

Albus had taken to sleeping with the blood pact pendant under his pillow. He didn’t know why, but he’d found that his dreams were immensely more pleasurable now that he had the symbol of his and Gellert’s union close by again. It was nothing like having a real man in his bed, of course, nothing would be able to replace the few cherished memories he had…

The memories, which became ever more dangerous as time went on, Albus was aware of that. The Ministry of Magic knew that he’d been close to Gellert in the past. What was the charming, yet inaccurate description they’d used? ‘As close as brothers.’ It had taken all of Albus’ willpower not to laugh out loud in that very moment – if the Ministry employees knew… The monitoring handcuffs had felt awful enough, and being banned from teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? He, who was undoubtedly one of the best teachers this school had ever seen, banned from teaching? It was ridiculous. He was still Albus Dumbledore, the only one who Gellert Grindelwald might be afraid of, and if it was only because of the feelings he still inspired in Gellert’s heart of hearts.

They’d argued, he recalled, many summers ago when they’d both been young, hot-headed and comparatively innocent. What was the most devious kind of magic?

At the time, Albus had said the Imperius Curse. It took a person’s free will away, making them submit to another’s command quite willingly – there was a good reason why it was considered an Unforgivable Curse in Wizarding Britain.

Now, he thought that the most insidious kind of magic out there was simply love. And, contrary to the Imperius Curse, there were no laws against love.

You could fall in love at first sight, in a matter of seconds, but nobody ever said the reverse – falling out of love. You didn’t fall out of love. There was no cure for love gone wrong. Instead, you had to suffer and struggle for weeks, months, years on end…

Albus Dumbledore was still struggling, even after decades.

Love was not rational, love was not kind – no, love was like that muggle disease, cancer. It spread in you, festering, infecting your insides until it had corrupted every good thing inside of you. What else could explain the way Albus still hungered for Gellert Grindelwald’s touch, for his hands on his skin and his mouth covering his own, after all, that had happened between them?

What could explain such madness, except for the greatest insanity of all – love?

Twenty-seven years ago, Gellert Grindelwald had laid in Albus’ bed after they made love for the first time. He’d been naked, vulnerable, and so beautiful that it hurt to look at him for longer than a few seconds. He’d said: “I love you.”

Those three words had sealed both their fates.

The Ministry wanted him to fight the man he loved more than anything in the world? Did they really think Albus would be able to pick up his wand and duel Gellert because the Minister of Magic wanted him to?

Albus couldn’t even bring himself to take revenge for the death of his little sister, like old wizarding law would have stipulated. His father had been more courageous, a better man than Albus would ever be. He’d gone after the Muggle boys who’d molested Ariana and repaid them in kind – an eye for an eye, a life for a life. Percival Dumbledore had died in Azkaban, serving a life sentence for defending his family’s honor.

And his son? Made a career out of shirking his responsibilities, telling himself that he could get out of his duty to take revenge for his sister’s death.

The law might have regarded it as an accident, all those years ago, but Albus knew that magic was different. Blood needed to be repaid in blood, that’s the way it went. Something inside of him would not be able to rest until he’d settled that decades-old debt.

And still… Albus reached under his pillow, examining the blood pact. Gellert had kept it safe, for all those years. If he’d truly wanted to destroy it, Gellert would have found a way, Albus was sure of it. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, like Gellert used to say. With the help of magic, nothing was certain in this world – not even death, the existence of the Deathly Hallows was proof of that.

*** *** ***

**1945**

It had taken the wizarding community almost two decades, but Albus Dumbledore had finally caved in and agreed to face Gellert Grindelwald on the battlefield – brilliant, beautiful Gellert, the most dangerous wizard of all time.

During the war, none of Gellert’s strategic moves had truly surprised Albus – they were two sides of the same coin, they knew what the other was thinking. Some people at the Ministry had been surprised by Albus’ insight into Grindelwald’s political theories, attributing his ability to seemingly peek into the Austrian’s head as a sign of Albus’ extraordinarily high intelligence, but Albus knew that there was a much simpler, albeit admittedly more sinister explanation for it.

Gellert and Albus had composed the music together, but Gellert was the only one dancing to the tune. They’d both invented the ideology, so many years ago, during their fateful love story. They could have been Masters of Death, Gellert had said if they only joined forces. The two greatest wizards the world had ever seen, bound together by love, power and a shared vision for the future. They would be kings, Gellert had promised him. They would be heroes.

Albus Dumbledore didn’t feel heroic as he readied himself for the duel.

If he was being honest with himself, he was afraid. He was the only person able to beat Gellert in a duel, that he knew, but he still wasn’t sure whether he was going to succeed. Looking down at his wand, which had served him so well ever since he’d picked it out at Ollivander’s. His mother’s eyes had been red-rimmed from crying, his father had been sent to Azkaban only a few weeks ago. When Albus waved what was to become his wand, red and golden sparks erupted from its tip, and his mother had smiled for the first time since they’d taken his father into custody.

And how had he repaid her?

Albus shook his head to clear his thoughts. His wand had served him well, he concluded, it had never disappointed him. Still, there was a very real possibility that it might meet its match today. If the rumors were true, and Gellert had found the Elder Wand, the wand forged by Death itself… of course, not by Death itself, that was only a fairytale, but the wand forged by the eldest Peverell brother.

Albus was still convinced that the Deathly Hallows existed – simply because one had not heard from them in centuries didn’t mean that they weren’t real. His nightmares weren’t real either, but they still had managed to have a profound effect on him.

What was real was his fear of Gellert – it had prompted him to be hypervigilant, and perhaps he sometimes overshot the mark. He should have been more compassionate with Tom Riddle, he thought, furrowing his brows when he realized what he was doing. Why was he thinking about a shop clerk when he ought to be preparing for the battle that would decide the future of the wizarding world?

*** *** ***

**1945**

Him against Albus – they had worked out a deal. The allied forces commanded by the ICW and the army Gellert had amassed would not have to fight each other. Instead, it would be decided the old-fashioned way. A wizard’s duel, to the death, if necessary.

Gellert felt the Elder Wand twitch in his hand – it had seen more duels than any other wand on this planet, and it knew, no matter the victor, it would always come out on top. It had gone through the hands of many masters and, contrary to the common lore, one didn’t have to kill the wand’s old master to wield it. The wand recognized a new master, even if the old one was still alive – Gellert had not killed Gregorovitch, the old, foolish wandmaker, to gain possession of the wand. No, he’d stolen it – forcibly removed it from his previous master’s possession – and the wand had recognized him as its new master. He was worthy of the Elder Wand and could use the power in the ancient artifact to construct a new world order.

If everything had gone according to plan, he wouldn’t have been alone in doing so. Albus should have been by his side. Lovers, kings, heroes.

But Albus had chosen his side, he’d chosen his side long ago, and no matter how much it had hurt to accept it, Albus’ place wasn’t at Gellert’s side. Power and love didn’t mix well.

What was Albus thinking at this moment? Between the two of them, Gellert had delved much deeper into the realm of Dark Magic, as Albus would call it. For Gellert, the term itself was ridiculous. Dark Magic? Light Magic? There was just magic – how could humans pretend to be able to judge an ancient force like magic, and divide it into their superficial categories like good and evil?

Who needed Avada Kedavra, when you could kill with the simplest spells known to wizardkind, too? It was just a matter of creativity and resourcefulness.

Albus would have called him amoral for thinking this way, Gellert would have replied that this was nothing but an impractical constraint on your possible actions. What did it matter, if it was all for the Greater Good in the end? The end justifies the means, everyone knew that. When fighting against an oppressive regime, that forcibly kept wizards from claiming their right to rule, that forced them into hiding, while the Muggles were running free, each generation coming closer and closer to destroying civilization. Albus didn’t care for divination, but Gellert knew that his visions were genuine, and he’d seen images of the future…

Once upon a time, Albus would have understood that Gellert wasn’t evil, no, he wasn’t deranged like the media portrayed him. He would have understood that to fight a monstrous regime on your own, you had to become a monster yourself, at least for a while. You had to beat them using their own methods, fully aware that you knew what was best for the world.

“Once upon a time…”, that’s how fairytales started – “And they lived happily ever after”, that’s how they tended to end, at least in English, Albus’ language. German, the language Gellert had grown up with, was more pragmatic and less romantic in that respect.  _ Und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute. _ If they haven’t died, they’re still alive, that’s how German fairytales ended. Not a single word about love, not a single word about happiness – because in the end, that’s what mattered, no? Being alive, conquering death.

He couldn’t let his fear show, but he’d been afraid of confronting Albus. He mustn’t show weakness in front of his followers, but he could feel the hand holding the Elder Wand shake ever so slightly.

No, it had to be done, Gellert told himself, gripping the Elder Wand tighter. He was the wand’s legitimate master, one of the greatest wizards of all time, he could do this. It was for the Greater Good. Defeating Albus was for the Greater Good.

Once upon a time, Albus would have understood.

But that had been half a century ago, so long that his memories had taken on a dream-like quality, and sometimes, he wondered whether it had really happened. He used to have the blood pact to hold on to, to remind himself that yes, once upon a time, Albus Dumbledore had agreed to bind himself, body, soul, and spirit, to Gellert, in a ceremony that went far beyond even the most traditional wizarding wedding vows.

He’d worn the blood pact above his heart, wondering if any of his followers even guessed the significance of the object, or if they just thought that it was a pretty piece of jewelry, befitting Gellert’s soft spot for grandeur. No, they couldn’t have known. Of course, they couldn’t have known. He hadn’t spent so much time telling them that Albus Dumbledore was the greatest threat to their movement for nothing.

The ones who’d gotten suspicious had been dealt with. The Death Stick had gotten ample opportunity to live up to its name. It was no use, worrying about the blood pact. If the rumors about Albus were true, then he’d never even dared to admit that he preferred men, let alone that he’d lost his innocence to one of the most notorious men alive.

*** *** ***

**1945**

It was a shock to see Gellert – of course, he’d seen photographs of him over the years and had gazed upon Gellert’s likeness in the mirror of Erised more times than he’d care to admit. But seeing him in person?

For some childish reason, his brain had managed to play tricks on him, thinking that it would be like before, like when they’d first parted ways, following the duel that brought about Ariana’s death. 

It wasn’t like that.

Oh no, it hurt far more.

In that very moment, Albus realized he wouldn’t be able to fight Gellert. His ex-lover, technically, but so much more than that. He hadn’t destroyed the blood pact. They wouldn’t be able to fight, anyway. He felt the bonding magic in his blood sing, recognizing the mate it thought Albus had lost so long ago, urging him to embrace Gellert and make up for so much lost time.

“Is this how it ends?” Gellert asked. His accent had gotten less noticeable over the years, but it was still there, making the English sound a little harsh, a little foreign, a little seductive… “A wizard’s duel? Like in times of old?”

Albus was tempted to shake his head, but, with his free hand, he reached up and pulled the blood pact pendant out from under his shirt. He held it up for Gellert to see and draw his own conclusions.

Gellert’s mouth twisted into a crooked smile before he raised the Elder Wand and cast a silencing charm around them, along with a very powerful barrier that would even withstand a combined effort to break it for at least half an hour. Even though Albus knew what had become of him, he’d always admired Gellert’s wand work – it was elegant and powerful, the movements didn’t resemble what the textbooks deemed correct, rather, Gellert used his wand like a conductor used his baton.

He was conducting his magical power, and he controlled the Elder Wand, yet he’d made no move to attack Albus. He couldn’t. Even if he tried, his own magic would rebel against him, not able to vanquish its bondmate.

Casting almost by instinct, Albus raised his own wand and, interweaving his magic with Gellert’s, which was almost too easy. Together they created a strong illusion, letting the onlookers believe they were watching the wizard’s duel of the century. Gellert recognized Albus’ motive and started feeding his own magic into the spell, too, adding to the strength of the illusion. Not even the strongest Occlumens would be able to withstand the suggestive power of the illusionary spells, cast by the two greatest wizards in the world, working together instead of against each other. Add to that the immense power reserves of the Elder Wand and the illusion was truly an extraordinary piece of magic.

Assuming he’d escape with his freedom, Albus would pull the memory of this very moment out of his head, study their respective spellwork and mourn the loss of so many opportunities. Gellert was right, in a way – they could have achieved great things together. Too bad they messed it up irreparably back when they’d only been teenagers.

Finishing the illusion around them, both Albus and Gellert lowered their wands, taking deep breaths. It was an extraordinary piece of magic, yes, but that also meant that it was exhausting.

“I’m surprised you haven’t destroyed the blood pact,” Gellert said. It was almost a whisper, but he must have enchanted his voice because it carried over the distance between themselves almost effortlessly.

“You know why,” Albus said, although he wasn’t sure if Gellert, in fact, knew the reason why Albus had failed to destroy the blood pact. It was the last remnant he’d had of a better time, of a time during which he’d used to think that life might turn out well in the end, that the universe had sent him the one person who was his soulmate and making a blood pact with Gellert had felt like the most natural thing to do.

“After all this time?” Gellert asked, voice sounding broken and tuneless, without any sign of his usual charisma. There were no masks now, no pretenses, no lies. Even Gellert, master manipulator that he was, wouldn’t be able to act the emotion in his voice, the pain that was evident in the slight tremble of his hands, the anguish on his face and the raspiness of his voice.

Albus didn’t answer, although the obvious reply was on the tip of his tongue.

Gellert smiled sadly. “Me too,” he said. “I never stopped, you know. I just… I had to mask it very well so my followers wouldn’t get suspicious. Tedious, but necessary. I’m… I…”

“I thought it would be easy,” Albus confessed. “I thought when I saw you again, I’d be filled with hatred and want to take revenge, but I’m just… all I feel is miserable.”

Slowly, Gellert shrugged. “You’re not the only one.” He looked around, demonstratively, at the magical illusion they’d both created. A slight flick of the Elder Wand and Albus knew that the onlookers had to be seeing Gellert performing an especially impressive feat of magic. “We could have done great things,” he said before shuffling his feet. “You must know that I’m not used to… well, you know me. I’m a fighter.”

Against his intention, Albus snorted. “No, you’re not. You’re not a fighter, Gellert, you’re a puppeteer.”

Gellert smiled, and it was the same smile that drove an eighteen-year-old Albus Dumbledore nearly mad with desire. “A puppeteer… the image seems fitting, I have to admit.”

“If you’d gone to Hogwarts, people would have said you were Salazar Slytherin reborn,” Albus said, watching Gellert carefully.

Gellert only rolled his eyes. “Don’t try to flatter me, neither of us believes in reincarnation. And wouldn’t you be doing Salazar Slytherin a disservice by comparing him to me? Slytherin does not equal evil and few would argue that I’m anything but evil, Albus.”

“I don’t think you’re evil per se,” Albus corrected him. “On the contrary, you have a strong set of beliefs, and you’re willing to fight for them even if most of the world is against you. It’s just unfortunate that you seem to have no respect for international wizarding law while pursuing your beliefs and so I can’t do anything but oppose you.”

“Unfortunate—"

“And,” Albus continued before Gellert could interrupt him any further. “Another negative quality of yours is that you don’t know when you’re beaten. You don’t know when it’s time to surrender. I’ve seen the reports, Gellert. Your armies have been decimated, your followers are exhausted, you’ve steadily been losing support all over Europe. The Elder Wand may be unbeatable in direct conflict, but even it won’t be enough to save you if enough witches and wizards pool their power to use it against you.”

Albus flicked his own wand for emphasis, feeding more magic into the illusion of combat around them.

“Albus Dumbledore, you’re a brilliant thinker and once upon a time, I would have respected your opinion, but this time, you’re wrong. I know my situation. I know that there is no possibility of me winning this war. In short, I know that I’ve been beaten. I also know when it’s time to surrender.”

“Then why haven’t you surrendered yet?” Albus asked, feeling feverish all of a sudden. He tightened his grip on his wand; his palms were damp and sweaty.

“Because I’m Gellert Grindelwald, one of the most powerful and talented wizards alive, the greatest threat to wizarding society since time immemorial? I don’t surrender to just anyone, Albus. I’ve been waiting for a worthy opponent. And you must not forget… whoever defeats me will become the new master of the Elder Wand, the most notoriously dangerous wand in history. We both have studied its history, Albus. Let’s say I surrendered to a hot-headed Auror, or even worse, a politician? Would you want to live with the knowledge that I handed them the most powerful wand on Earth on a silver platter? No, I’ve been waiting for the one wizard I would trust with it, the one wizard I’ve inadvertently hurt enough so he’ll recoil from using the full potential of his own power forever. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“You’ve been waiting for me?” Albus echoed. “I’m not to be trusted with power, Gellert,” he added before his imagination could go wild. “I had that realization when I was eighteen.”

“You didn’t listen to me, did you?” Gellert retorted, clicking his tongue, looking so confident that nobody would have thought he was ready to surrender. “That’s your fault, Albus, are you aware of that? You talk, you ask insightful questions, but you don’t listen enough. Take it from me, in a lot of cases, you don’t even need to use Legilimency. Simply listening to people’s problems is enough. Make them feel understood and they will tell you everything you need to know about them.”

Albus shook his head, determined not to let Gellert coax him into anything. It was only later, when he reviewed the memories in his Pensieve, that he paused at Gellert’s monologue and vowed to listen more often, taking his ex-lover’s advice to heart…

“I thought you said you were ready to surrender?” Albus asked, trying not to betray the way his heart beat rapidly inside his chest. “What difference does it make whether you surrender to me or the Minister of Magic or…?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Gellert cut in. “It doesn’t suit you. You and I both know that it makes all the difference in the world. I just explained that you are a worthy master of the Elder Wand… and the way it’s twitching in my hand tells me that it knows that as well. The only one who’s in doubt is you, Albus.”

Against his usual mode of combat, Albus Dumbledore decided to throw caution to the wind for the first time in his life ever since he kissed a sixteen-year-old Gellert Grindelwald on the mouth, so many summers ago in Godric’s Hollow. Acting purely on intuition and muscle memory, Albus raised his wand as quickly as he could, gave it a flick and thought ‘Expelliarmus’.

To his credit, Gellert made good on his promise to surrender, and he didn’t even try to block the spell. The Elder Wand flew out of his hand, towards Albus, who caught it and was taken by surprise at how underwhelming this moment felt. He was holding one of the famed Deathly Hallows in his hands, shouldn’t he feel special? Shouldn’t there be more grandeur?

“The illusion will last for about thirty seconds longer, I think,” Gellert said, looking around with a detached sort of interest. “Are you going to put me in chains or not? Otherwise, that might be quite the strange ending for the duel of the century, wouldn’t you agree?”

He shook his head, raised the Elder Wand and simultaneously brought down the illusion, while he hurled the strongest binding charm he knew at Gellert.

The wand obeyed him perfectly, it had found a new master, and if Gellert’s expression was tinged with sadness, then Albus didn’t know whether he was mourning the loss of the most powerful wand in the world, which had now found a new home in Albus’ hand, or if he was mourning a much less recent loss.

The newspapers hailed Albus as a hero and vituperated Gellert as a monster.

Albus knew that they were neither.

*** *** ***

**1965**

Contrary to what he’d let the world believe, Gellert Grindelwald didn’t need the frankly tacky skull to have visions. No, the visions found him on their own, no help needed. Thanks to the monotone nature of his imprisonment, he could attune his mind more to the spiritual than to the worldly, which meant that his visions had increased in frequency and clarity.

For a while, he’d tried to get the guards to pass on what he’d seen in his visions to the various ministries around the world, but they’d had strict instructions not to listen to anything he’d said.

Well, at least he’d managed to talk them into allowing him access to parchment, quills, and ink – so old-fashioned, in his opinion. Not everything the Muggles invented was necessarily bad. He’d have given a lot for a plain old notebook and a ballpoint pen, but no, forced isolation led to technological stagnation in the wizarding world. Had any Ministry of Magic around the world even bothered to research possible counterspells against a nuclear bomb in the two decades since its invention? Gellert doubted it.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand – visions were always exhausting, and his latest one? If anyone listened to him, they’d be able to change the course of the future.

Gellert took careful notes of his visions, true glimpses into the future, and the guards went to great lengths not to make use of that knowledge. They had instructions to destroy his writings when they retrieved it, not even take a look at it, for fear of being influenced by it.

The wizarding world was truly run by fools – of course, it was, otherwise they’d have made Albus Minister of Magic long ago.

Gellert dipped the quill into the inkwell, and, hand shaking with age, making his handwriting appear unsteady, like that of someone old and frail (and perhaps that’s what he was, at least by Muggle standards), he wrote:

_ For Albus Dumbledore – Urgent: _

_ Tom Marvolo Riddle will become Lord Voldemort. _

_ He will split his soul and make seven Horcruxes. _

_ Diary. Ring. Locket. Cup. Diadem. Snake. Boy. _

_ He will want to steal the Elder Wand, and he will kill me. _

There, he had recorded his prophecy as plain and simple as he could. He’d never believed in cryptic speeches, thought that they were only used by false Seers who’d never made a real prediction in their lives.

Somehow, after the fact, you’d find a way to twist the words and create meaning where there hadn’t been any before, ensuring you were always right. Silver-tongued, they’d called him in another life, such a strange, English expression. Especially Seraphina Picquery had used that word to refer to him, going so far as to try and cut out his tongue. Of course, back then he’d already switched places with his lackey Abernathy, and he’d pretended to be a bootlicking sycophant for a few months… it had been tedious, compared to pretending to be the Director of Magical Security, but it had been necessary.

Tedious, but necessary. Gellert smiled, but something inside his chest hurt and tears sprung to his eyes. Would that be everything that was left of him in the end? Had everything he’d done not been for the Greater Good, and instead only tedious, but necessary.

Judging by what he’d seen in his vision, at least he’d always had the world’s best interest at heart when he’d acted, there had been an underlying logic to his violence. It had been measured and calculated.

The wizard who’d replace Gellert as the most dangerous wizard of all time was not like that. He killed for fun, without any logic or thought. He was only interested in power but didn’t stop to think about what he could potentially do with that power.

Gellert Grindelwald could tell you a thing or two about monsters. He’d been called a monster before, the moniker was nothing out of the ordinary to him, but deep inside, he knew that he was not a monster. Sly, logical, and efficient when it came to achieving the goals he’d set for himself? Oh, yes. But a ruthless monster? No.

And that’s what separated him from the man who would go on to kill him. Gellert Grindelwald had never taken that last step and split his soul in a monstrous ritual to achieve some semblance of immortality. Lord Voldemort was a monster. Gellert was only human.

He could only hope that Albus had it in him to fight the true threat to wizarding society when the time came, too.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, please consider leaving a comment or kudos (preferably both :)) - it would mean the world to me!
> 
> Find me [@almost-annette](https://almost-annette.tumblr.com/)


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